


Aftertaste

by frostwitch



Series: Requests (Mostly Drabbles/Oneshots) [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Another Episode: Ultra Despair Girls, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Break Up, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Despair Komaeda Nagito, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Komaeda Nagito As The Servant, Komaeda Nagito's Luck Cycle, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Substance Abuse, Suffering Komaeda Nagito, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostwitch/pseuds/frostwitch
Summary: Komaeda's luck delivers him an "anti-love potion," which allows him to erase any and all inconvenient feelings for Kamukura. He's hopeful doing so will make him a better servant, but doesn't take the side effects into account until it's too late.
Relationships: Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Series: Requests (Mostly Drabbles/Oneshots) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960126
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	Aftertaste

Komaeda turned the bottle over in his hand for the eleventh time that morning. He’d nicked it from Kimura’s lab once Souda had finished ripping the place apart in a frenzied search for spare parts. Something about building “the biggest, most awesomest beacon of despair known to mankind” which sounded an awful lot like another attempt to win Enoshima’s affection, or more accurately, a catastrophe waiting to happen.

In his humble (though honestly quite worthless) opinion, affection was overrated. Love that couldn’t sustain itself without reciprocation was just one’s selfish desires masquerading as romantic feelings, and no different than senselessly believing in a false hope. Souda’s feelings for Enoshima were tainted by despair; he could never expect to win her rotten heart through underhanded tactics such as flattery. 

However, on the subject of true love, Komaeda, Souda, and most of the other Remnants seemed to agree on one key philosophy:  _ usefulness  _ was the variable that determined whether or not one was worthy to be loved in return. 

_ Once someone stops being useful, they no longer deserve love.  _

Repeating the mantra several times over in his head, he ignored the icy fist that had an iron grip around his heart. If only Komaeda was simply unworthy of love, he might not consider such a reckless course of action. But two days ago, he had proven to Kamukura that he was the lowest of the low, tactless scum so wretched and disgustingly filthy that he no longer deemed himself worthy of his own humanity. He no longer deserved to love Kamukura--no, perhaps he’d lost that privilege long ago, the moment he’d presumptuously offered his unsolicited services in return for permission to bask in the Ultimate Hope’s glory. As if he had any right to ask for something like that in the first place.

_ Pathetic.  _

Komaeda’s fingernails scraped along the outside of the bottle as he unconsciously tightened his grasp, screeching unpleasantly against the glass. Despite his obvious shortcomings, he really was grateful for this stroke of luck--to think that the accomplished Ultimate Chemist had found a way to decrease the production of both oxytocin and cortisol in the brain at once without rendering the subject obsolete, a truly groundbreaking feat! If she were still alive today, he would be completely indebted to her. His predicament would only be temporary, and he owed it all to Kimura. Maybe there was even a chance he could still be useful to Kamukura in some way. All he had to do was drain every last drop and dispose of the evidence. 

But for some reason, Komaeda couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

He fidgeted with the cap, nonchalantly smoothing his thumb over its grooves and edges. While his feelings inconvenienced Kamukura greatly, he couldn’t help but fret over whether or not a version of himself incapable of love would show him the appropriate amount of respect. Of course pure, unbridled love should never be a precursor to respect, but the thought of being unable to understand why it would be inappropriate to complain about the conditions of his servitude  _ mortified  _ him, and as far as he knew, he’d still be capable of feeling shame. 

Komaeda wondered what Kamukura would do if he was here, watching him mull over the possible outcomes for each choice at the pace of a snail. He’d most likely be indifferent; perhaps feel some semblance of relief that Komaeda, who was no doubt a constant thorn in his side, would no longer cling to him like a shadow during his every waking moment. (Assuming Kamukura’s chemically altered brain allowed him to.) Or maybe even somewhat curious about what might happen to his deteriorating body and mind. Perhaps he’d object, claiming the hassle of dealing with any potential side effects outweighed the benefits. But otherwise, Komaeda could think of nothing that would cause the Ultimate Hope to actively dissuade him. 

As he closed his eyes, the image of dark, cold pity was seared into his memory. It burned sharp and white hot behind his eyelids, every line and muscle of Kamukura’s face etched into the skin there with jagged lightning. While he felt unsure of how best to proceed, one thing was certain: he never wanted to provoke that expression from his master again. It had hurt more than when he severed his own hand, fractured him into tiny little pieces that were crushed into dust under the heel of those shiny black shoes. No matter the personal cost, he couldn’t allow that to happen again.

Before Komaeda could consciously choose to drink it, his body decided for him. In one swift movement, he pulled off the cap, tilted his head back, and held the bottleneck between his lips until no sticky green residue remained. The bitter taste it left behind made him grimace, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from gagging and subsequently wiping his mouth with a sleeve. The experience was more unpleasant than he’d expected, and he caught himself before he could regret his actions.

But none of that really mattered now, as long as he could still be useful to Kamukura.

Tossing the empty bottle into a nearby pile of rubble, Komaeda went about his day and waited for the medicine to take effect. After washing their dirty clothes in the abandoned laundromat and hanging them out to dry, he wasn’t tired. If anything, it felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Slowly, Komaeda forgot what it felt like to love. After five minutes, he didn’t remember what he’d been so worried about in the first place, and after ten, the memory of earning Kamukura’s disdain faded from importance. Once half an hour had passed, Komaeda found the entire ordeal foolish--Kamukura was undoubtedly a great man, but surely one little mistake was nothing to worry about. 

An hour passed, and Komaeda gradually lost the ability to care what Kamukura thought of him. In the back of his mind, an inkling of a thought tickled his brain, telling him he shouldn’t think of the Ultimate Hope as just another man, but he brushed it off. By the time his master came home, reeking of sweat and blood with his long black hair tangled ferociously, Komaeda almost recoiled at his presence. What had he found so attractive about this walking mess in the first place? His own past self’s desires were beyond his comprehension. 

The poker face must have slipped, because Kamukura immediately seized on the tension in the air. He crossed the room with a few long strides, tilting his head to the side. Komaeda could practically see the gears in his head turning, but for some reason, not even the wheezy laugh that tickled the insides of his cheeks escaped him. 

“Something is… different.”

Those words came out flat and apathetic, tinged with wariness, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him. 

Komaeda shrugged. “So?”

“What have you done.” Spoken not as a question, but a command. An order Komaeda supposed he ought to follow.

“Surely someone as intelligent as you can figure that much out on your own.”

Narrowing his eyes, the man stepped forward once more, into his servant’s personal space. “I have no interest in whatever game you are attempting to play. If you do not want to cooperate, I will simply leave you to your own devices and continue my search for entertainment elsewhere.”

Komaeda met his gaze unflinchingly. Deep down, a part of him vaguely wondered if his former self would weep at the next words that left his lips. 

“Go ahead.”

**Author's Note:**

> Angst isn't my strongest genre, but fortunately it's not my weakest either. This fic was a really nice opportunity for me to practice the writing techniques I already know, as well as experiment with a few unique twists I devised on my own. I almost felt sorry for Komaeda while writing the last couple paragraphs; KamuKoma has a special place in my heart and it stings a little to imagine them parting ways under circumstances that could've easily been avoided. Let me know if you enjoyed reading, and please consider leaving kudos.
> 
> ( I wrote this to satisfy a request for an anonymous user on Tumblr, please check out my blog @hopetwink if you want to send one in. )


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